


postcards from italy

by preromantics



Category: White Collar
Genre: Comment Fic, Future Fic, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He waits for Peter to say, <i>Stay, Neal,</i> but he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	postcards from italy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 8/01/2010.

Peter never tells him to apply to stay on in the FBI, even though Neal waits for it -- he maps out all the possible ways the conversation could go, the things he could say. He waits for Peter to say,  _Stay, Neal_ , but he doesn't.

If anything, they start to work together less. Peter pairs him with Jones for gathering intell. He sets him up with paperwork. Neal stops getting invites to come over for dinner after work. 

Peter has to be the one to sign for Neal's freedom, to end his contract with the feds. He's late to the signing. He looks away when Neal gets his anklet off. 

(June said, months ago, that she had inherited a property in Florence  _ages ago, Neal, it's just a little thing I always forget about. I'm in no state of mind to keep running off on European vacations. You are more than welcome to it._

Neal had thanked her, pinned a few pictures of the villa that she'd left out with his coffee after to his wall. He didn't think he'd go.)

Elizabeth says that Neal should go out to dinner with them, after Peter has signed the papers. Neal does, even though he doesn't want to, doesn't want to stand the sudden drop of distance between them all. 

Peter doesn't come to the dinner -- "He called," El says, sitting with her wine glass half-empty already, "He had to do something on the Barrow case, said to say he was sorry."

Neal takes a sip of the wine already in front of his table setting. "He didn't really tell you to say that," he says, managing a quick grin at El. She frowns at him, shakes her head. 

"Neal," she starts, "Peter is --"

Neal sets his wine glass down. "Don't," he says, despite how much he wants an explanation for the past few months, the way Peter had pushed him away, the way Neal could map out Peter's lips behind closed eyes, despite how he had never gotten to know them right. 

"I'm leaving for Italy tomorrow," Neal says, after El has fallen silent, tearing her bread into neat little pieces, avoiding the caviar and oil garnish entirely. 

"Italy," she repeats. "Wow, Neal, that's. Great." She doesn't sound like it's great.

He nods. "I love the Italian masters. The wine."

"Be sure to come visit us," Elizabeth says. They don't talk about much of anything throughout the rest of the meal, and they definitely don't talk about Peter.

-

Peter doesn't stop him on his way to the airport, he doesn't come onto the plane to drag Neal back out. Neal, at this point, doesn't expect him to. 

-

Months later, Neal sends Peter a birthday card. It's sort of tradition. 

It's just over a year that Neal's been in Italy when Peter shows up at his doorstep. 

"Have you started a basement art collection, yet?" Peter asks, first. Neal hasn't -- the one piece of art in his basement was a moving-in gift from June, worth about $15,000, completely legal. 

"No," Neal says. He pauses before stepping back to let Peter inside. "I have started a micro-winery, though," he says, peering out at the stakes for the vines across from the villa, the land he'd bought four months ago. 

"I wondered what you bought the land for," Peter says. The quiet of the villa is like a blanket when Neal closes the front door. 

"Watching me, Burke?" Neal asks, and it doesn't feel forced, the easy quip, but it doesn't feel the same, either. 

Peter catches his eyes, he looks tired, and his mouth curves up softly. "I'm always watching you, Caffrey," he says. 

They sort of fall together at once, and that part is easy, and they'll talk about the rest, but -- somehow, even this works.


End file.
